


Tame the Vicious Scenes

by EmitTime



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Inspired by Real Events, Male Friendship, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmitTime/pseuds/EmitTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days when France and England don't fight are the days something is terribly wrong. France-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tame the Vicious Scenes

**.**

**Tame the Vicious Scenes**

**.**

* * *

The doorknob of the conference room is smooth and cool beneath his elegant fingers.

Francis has always thrived on touch. Certainly, he enjoys honeyed words flowing from flattering tongues, but not as much as the contact of a lover's kiss or a friend's familiar caress. The self-proclaimed country of love craves this attention, absorbs it like a thriving rose drinking in the dew of a misty morning.

This sensitivity makes the pain all the worse when he feels the jolt of terror in his people, the searing of anger and anguish through his veins, the hollow ache of loss deep in his chest...

A hand settles just above his elbow, and he turns to find that Arthur had come to stand quietly next to him.

"All right, France?" There is no contempt in his tone, not a trace of a sneer upon his somber, knowing face.

" _Non."_ The reply is blunt, but he offers an appreciative, tired smile for this enigmatic man, knowing that touch is not exactly England's forte. "But I will heal."

Arthur's eyes are hardened and glinting with a coiled sort of danger that is directed at no one in particular, like a snake with its prey out of reach. It's a familiar sight, one that causes Francis to stand up straighter in response.

England knows his anger. England understands his pain. They are, after all, not so different when it comes to the core of these things.

"Of course you will." The island nation gives his arm a light squeeze before withdrawing his hand, and France knows it to be a gesture of support and comfort that neither of them will acknowledge in words.

It's enough to bring the fire back to his own eyes, dulling the pain in his limbs with a rush of purpose.

 _We were Empires, you and I._ He thinks. _We had power. Do we fight constantly for that nostalgia?_

And England turns to shoot him one last private look then, still not smirking or smiling, just staring as if he could see right through him.

"No time like the present."

France shut his eyes for a long moment.

_But of course. We fight for things much more important than that._

"No time at all." Opening the door, he places a hand between England's shoulder blades to guide him in. The island nation offers no resistance, a true sign of his deference to Francis' demeanor.

Throughout the meeting they do not bicker, disrespect, punch, kick or throttle each other even once.

For England and France had pained each other enough over the years to recognize one another's hurt.

When it counted, they did not forget that looking out for their beautiful world also meant looking out for each other. They extended support when it was truly needed.

Francis muses, as he shifts in his seat and folds his arms close to his body – the only sign of vulnerability in his otherwise expertly controlled countenance – that when he and Arthur have time and energy to squabble, it's a sign that times are good.

And on days like this, when all that rests between them are twin walls of private thoughts, a couple of phantom touches and an unspoken truce – these are subdued occasions.

Francis lifts his chin higher and consoles himself with thoughts of bringing back days of smiles and laughter and _yes_ , even arguments over nothing. That will be a victory.

He will heal, as he told Arthur. And Arthur said _of course_ , because he believes him. He knows him.

Unfolding his arms, France allows himself another tired smile and tunes into the tasks at hand, quelling his bitterness and grief beneath a wave of determination.

_No time like the present._

He will not waste it, especially when the world needs so much love and laughter, now more than ever.

Curiously enough, this always seems to be the case, but it gives him all the more reason to move forward.

* * *

_**.** _

_**End** _

**.**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want this to turn out as a shipfic, but as a look into one aspect of the complicated relations between France and England, as well as the complicated character of Francis himself.
> 
> Although this story vaguely alludes to recent events in Paris, I mean this as no form of disrespect in the wake of the attack of Charlie Hebdo. The attack was an unfortunate and tragic reminder of the corruption which plagues nations and people of our world. I take it very seriously. Thus, it is not my intention to offend anyone by alluding to this tragedy in fiction, but rather to cope through writing.


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